


Passing The Time

by SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom John, Bottoming from the Top, M/M, Top Sherlock, Topping from the Bottom, a bit fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock/pseuds/SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been on back to back cases which means he and John haven't had sex in days. When they realize they have a bit of free time to themselves after he's finished, they find a way to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing The Time

John yawned lightly as he came out of the bathroom in his robe, some water still dripping down his calves and on to the floor as he scrubbed at his hair with a towel. He looked around the kitchen, seeing the workings of Sherlock’s current experiment spread out on the table while the genius in question was laying down on their couch with his fingers steepled at his mouth in thought.

He shook his head, wondering if there would ever be a day where the kitchen would still be clean that night after being cleaned the morning of. It wouldn’t be so bad if Sherlock’s experiments were simply with chemicals but as of right now, we was working with eyeballs again — human and animal— and that never ended well.

“I asked for my phone, John,” Sherlock mumbled, not looking away from his fixed gaze on the ceiling.

John paused in the archway of the kitchen and the living room, looking over at the consulting detective. “And when did you do that?” he asked, but already knowing the answer. He must have done it while he had been in the shower seeing as how he was in there for an extended amount of time, washing off his day at the surgery.

Sherlock hummed, signifying that he was giving the question thought before he answered but they both knew it was just a formality. “Half-hour ago,” he said, closing his eyes as if the action would help him get back on track with his thoughts.

The doctor sighed and began looking around the living room for the mobile phone, knowing Sherlock didn’t usually go too far without it. He found it under a stack of papers and handed it to the man, briefly wondering why he needed it but not bothering to ask.

John moved back to the kitchen, muttering the words “Have you eaten?”

“You know eating slows me down, John. I don’t know how many times—”

“Yes, all right,” he interrupted, not having the patience in him tonight to listen to one of Sherlock’s ‘reason’s why I’m different’ speeches. He simply accepted the information and moved on. “Well you’ve finished, haven’t you? Will you eat now?”

Sherlock sighed. He wasn’t on a case right now but he had been deep in thought about how to go about smuggling an entire body out of Bart’s and to the flat. Sure the process wouldn’t be completely difficult, just a minor challenge — and oh, how he loved those. But all of that aside, he knew that John wouldn’t take no for an answer when he knew that there wasn’t a case.

“If it will satisfy your need to dote on me like a mother-hen,” he teased nonchalantly as he got up and went over to the window, feeling the urge to move about and do something other than just lay in one place.

He didn’t overly mind the way John felt the overwhelming need to look after him. He enjoyed it most of the time. John would care for him. He hadn’t really had someone like that since he was younger and his mother cared for him like the child he was. But even the novelty of that wore off as he got older and decided he needed to be overly independent like all other adolescents. It was common, really.

John shook his head then looked around the kitchen. There was no way he was going to be able to get any cooking done in the midst of all of this. There were eyeballs everywhere. Some were floating in unidentifiable liquid, whereas others were cut in half and sitting on the counter waiting for the experiment to be finished. He looked away, feeling like he was going to gag. No there wouldn’t be any cooking tonight.

“We’re ordering in,” he announced before coming into the living room and searching through the pile of take out menus they had accumulated. He looked through them, trying to decide what he was in the mood for. “Chinese or… we could have pizza. We’ve not had that in some time.”

Sherlock waved his hand and made a face, not bothering to answer the other man. He didn’t overly want to eat in the first place; he wasn’t going to care the ethnicity of the food. John could simply get whatever he wanted.

The blond rolled his eyes, wondering how he had gotten to the point in his life when a noncommittal wave of Sherlock’s hand made complete sense to him, as if the gesture was just one of their own version of BSL (British Sign Language).

John quickly decided he was in the mood for pizza as moved to get his phone off the nightstand and dialed the number before rattling off their usual order of two large cheese pizzas — for left overs of course because Sherlock would rather eat the pizza cold — an order of mozzarella sticks and a side of chips.

“… all right… thank you… okay, then. Goodbye,” he said and hung up the phone. He looked back over to Sherlock who was still standing at the window, looking out at nothing in particular. “They said it would be ‘bout a thirty-five minute wait, Sherlock.”

The consulting detective grunted, not particularly caring when the food he didn’t particularly want to eat would get here or how long it would take. Of course, John knew that, he was giving his brain something to do. The place they ordered from was clear across town. It wasn’t late but the traffic would have slowed down significantly. But there was a detour on the way to their flat, and a bit of roadwork. It would take the delivery at least fifty minutes to get there.

“It’ll take at least fifty,” he said in a low voice. He was about to elaborate when he felt Johns arms wrap around his waist. He looked back just enough to see the slightly smaller man. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” John began as he lifted the hem of Sherlock’s shirt and began kissing his spine. “I’ve not seen you all day, you’ve currently got nothing on, and we’ve fifty minutes in which we can do whatever we want. What do you say we make the most of it?”

Sherlock shuddered at the feeling of John’s lips on his skin, letting the other man’s proposal flit about in his mind. He smirked, looking back out the window and let John continue what he was doing as a plan formed in his head.

“You’ve tried to wash it off but you still smell like the chemicals at the surgery. Perhaps it was because you had to take an exceptionally long shower after you were exposed to something. That much was clear when you came home in different clothes than you went in. An extra pair you keep at work specifically for occasions such as this.”

John’s lips faltered and his grip on the taller man tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. His nails were cut down and just barely pressing into the skin beneath his thin layer. “Sherlock,” he said in a warning tone.

His smirk grew wider, knowing what his deductions did to his husband. “It was of course unnecessary — the scrubbing yourself with chemicals, not the shower itself. But you did scrub your skin raw. Hours ago and a second shower later, the marks from your unyielding scrubbing are still visible where your robe doesn’t cover.” He paused only a moment, giving off the dramatic effect he was going for. “However, the reason you washed yourself so harsh and thoroughly wasn’t because you were trying to prevent yourself from getting sick… you were trying to wash off a smell. It was clearly something you thought would set me off or else you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble; you never do. It could be a number of things but now that you’ve washed it off, I suppose I’ll never know.” He paused again. “Though I could always guess.”

The statement was meaningless, as they both knew Sherlock didn’t simply guess. Rather, it was meant as a ploy to see if he had gone far enough yet. If John didn’t move and didn’t say anything, it meant that Sherlock needed to try a bit harder but judging by the way that John was clinging to him meant that his mouth needed to do something other than talking.

He spun around, kissing the smaller man with such force that John had to wrap his arms around his neck as not to topple over on to the floor.

John moaned into the kiss, pulling him closer as their tongues darted out to meet the other. John whimpered at the feeling, not trying to be shy at a moment like this. He felt Sherlock backing him over to the couch, letting the taller man take control. Usually it was the other way around but as of right now, he wanted nothing more.

Sherlock laid him down on the couch, kissing down to his neck. “Not nearly my best work, John and already you’re erect for me,” he whispered against his skin, brought his hand down between the flaps of his robe and took John’s half-hard cock into his hand.

John moaned and closed his eyes, arching into his husbands touch. Sherlock had the most amazing fingers. No matter where they were, they seemed to always know how to strike the right chords as if John’s body was just an instrument he could play.

The army doctor reached down and pulled Sherlock’s shirt up and over his head before connecting their lips again in a searing kiss, needing this. He and Sherlock had somewhat of a rule. Unless Sherlock initiated it, there was to be no sexual intercourse during cases. Well Sherlock had been on back to back cases going on six days now and that was just too damn long for a married couple to go without sex — or at least it was for this particular married couple.

John broke the kiss, panting and moaning when Sherlock gave his prick a predominantly hard tug and ran his thumb over the tip. He brought his hands down and pulled at Sherlock’s trousers. “Off. Pants too,” he commanded.

“So bossy, John,” he teased but got up and stripped himself of his trousers and pants anyway, John opening his robe and slipping his arms out of it so that they were both naked and on display for the other.

Sherlock looked down at the man he had married only months ago. His feelings for John had surprised him at first, and his sexual attraction toward him came as a complete shock. Now, however, he wouldn’t have it any other way as he watched the blond spread his legs and reach for him.

Sherlock settled down between his legs, basking in the feeling of their bodies in full contact. Sherlock leaned down and kissed John passionately at first but soon they were filled with hunger. Both were somehow trying to kiss the other as deep as possible.

The dark-haired man rolled his hips, their erections grinding together.

John closed his eyes and moved his body in time with Sherlock’s, both setting an erratic rhythm that was enough to satisfy them both if they kept on, but only left them wanting — needing more. The doctor reached under and around Sherlock’s arms and gripped at the back of his shoulders, burying his face in the other man’s neck as the friction was becoming too much.

“Please... Sherlock,” he begged, feeling his and Sherlock’s groins dampen due to their cocks leaking precome, showing just how much they could rile each other up in a matter of moments.

Sherlock nipped at his jawline, humming against the skin. “Please what, John?” his lips moved up and licked at the shell of John’s ear. “Tell me what you want,” Sherlock requested but didn’t give his partner the chance to speak as he kissed down the blond’s chest and took one of his soft nipples between bowed lips.

John’s jaw fell slack and he arched his head back against the armrest of the couch. He wove his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, giving them a small but sharp tug. Sherlock moaned and John smirked mischievously. If Sherlock was going to torture him, he was going to give it right back.

“C-come on, love… enough foreplay,” John pleaded as his body betrayed his words and arched into Sherlock’s mouth, moaning when the dark-haired man raked his teeth over the sensitive bud.

Sherlock grinned around the appendage. He lived for moments like this — when John melted at his touch, as pliant as his dominant personality would allow. And the younger man couldn’t get enough of it. Taking his time to touch John in just the right places that he knew would make John’s thighs quiver and his toes curl.

It had taken time, that — knowing John’s body as well as he knew the streets of London. He could map out every erogenous zone on the doctors body. He knew where to stop and take his time and he knew which ones John could only handle for a certain amount of time. But if he used the knowledge correctly, it was enough to make John scream.

The consulting detective moaned as John rocked his hips, grinding himself against his thigh and causing a bit of friction for the man beneath him. If Sherlock didn’t enjoy taking full control when he was allowed, he would have let the blond keep going. He pinned John’s hips to stop him, the man in question whining in protest when he was cut off.

John looked up at the man, pleading with him. He needed more already. “J-just _fuck me_ already, Sherlock,” he ordered but his tone was a bit pleading.

Sherlock smirked and replied seductively. “My, my, John. Such a filthy mouth. Why not put it to good use.” He offered the man beneath him three fingers, not wanting to waste time by going to get the lube. “Suck.”

John took the digits into his mouth greedily, lapping at them, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s. He grinned when the man bit his lip, trying to pretend as if the action didn’t turn him on to the point of no return. He hummed before releasing his fingers with a wet pop. With a smirk he asked, “Wet enough?”

Sherlock returned the smirk as he moved his hand down and circled John’s entrance with his finger. John tensed only slightly, readying himself for the inevitable intrusion. “Mm,” Sherlock hummed against his skin. “Why don’t you tell me,” he whispered as his only warning before plunging his middle finger into his partner.

John let out a sound that bordered on a mewl as his hips pushed back into Sherlock’s finger, trying to make him go deeper. Yes, he was usually the dominant one out of the two but when Sherlock had him like this, he could be downright submissive.

Sherlock watched and catalogued John’s expressions as he moved his finger inside him, stretching him open to prepare him for another. John always looked so beautiful like this; his legs spread open so wide for him while his body responded to every single touch.

“Look at you. So needy for me,” Sherlock said, whispering into John’s ear with a low and velvety tone to his voice. He smirked when John whimpered and moved his hips faster. Sherlock’s voice affected him like nothing else. Maybe it was why his deductions got to him the way he did. But when Sherlock spoke to him like that — in a voice that sounded like pure _sex_ , it was hard to believe that the voice could have any other effect on him.

John threw his head back and gripped at his husband’s shoulders when Sherlock added a second finger and crooked them upwards in a searching manner. Not that Sherlock needed to search. He knew John’s body too well to need to search for anything, much less his prostate.

When Sherlock added a third and final finger, he felt like he was going to explode. Sherlock’s long fingers struck every chord inside him, successfully turning him into a ball of need and want. But John didn’t simply melt like he had been, no. He had had enough of this foreplay shit.

He practically growled as he pushed Sherlock off him and into the cushions on the other side of the couch. The consulting detective was about to ask what he was doing when John’s mouth descended on to his cock, easily taking him to the hilt.

Sherlock cried out, bucking his hips up into the wet heat. He felt his skin beginning to get clammy but paid no mind. He watched as John climbed on top of him and kissed him before taking Sherlock into his hand, guiding him to his entrance, and slowly sinking down on him.

The dark-haired man’s face twisted into one of ecstasy, his eyes closing. He loved this feeling. He was the only person to ever have John this way and he never got tired of feeling John’s muscles clench and unclench around his shaft. He put his hands on his hips, getting used to the feeling. Opening his eyes, he was met with a perfect sight.

John was seated on him fully, his fingers and nails lightly digging into the skin on his chest, while his head hung between his arms and he breathed brokenly, inaudible noises falling from his lips. The blond let the moans escape, knowing that there was no hope of holding them back. Not when Sherlock’s cock filled him the way it did.

After a moment, when he was adjusted, John slowly moved up then back down again. The action pulled moans from both of them. The consulting detective’s fingers were already digging into the blond’s hips, no doubt bruising him if it weren’t for John’s naturally tough skin.  

John set a slow rhythm at first, getting used to the feeling of doing this himself. It wasn’t the first time he had ever decided he’d had enough and taken control away from his lover, but it didn’t stop it from feeling like it was the first time, every time.

When John moved, Sherlock moved with him. He rolled his hips upwards, knowing how to do it just right so that when John moved back down, the tip of Sherlock’s member would hit his prostate every time.

John sat up straight and leaned back so that his hands were gripping Sherlock’s thighs for purchase.

He breathed out something that sounded like “Fuck, Sherlock…” but made no move to stop. Instead, he moved faster, his upper body shaking a bit from the pleasure.

Sherlock groaned deep in the back of his throat. He started to squirm a bit, his chest heaving from the feeling of John all around him. He gasped out when John sped his pace sporadically, suddenly bouncing up and down with a fierceness in his movements.

Sherlock knew John was speaking, moaning his name when he snapped his hips up to meet Johns, but he could barely understand what he was saying as the blood rushed in his ears. It vaguely registered when John practically screamed at him to do that again.

Expletives streamed out of John's mouth, him cursing like a sailor and it only spurring Sherlock on to snap his hips harder.

“Yes!” John shouted, the words finally making sense in Sherlock’s brain. “Oh _fuck_ — Ah! Sh- _Sherlock_!” the older man whimpered out.

Sherlock groaned and his eyes rolled back a bit. John was never this loud. It had always been a turn on when the blogger got a bit louder than he usually did, but this was beyond anything he had experienced before. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he found it downright _sexy_.

Sherlock yanked him down for a kiss, angling himself so that he was still hitting John’s sweet spot with every thrust. They panted against each other’s lips, moans and high-pitched whines leaving them both. They both opened their eyes, they met, and suddenly, that was enough to push them over the edge they’d been teetering on.

John arched his back and dug his nails into Sherlock’s shoulders as he came with a shout of Sherlock’s name, come spattering between them. He moaned once more as he felt Sherlock push inside him as deep as he could get. The genius cried out and threw his head back against the couch cushions. His whole body stiffened and he emptied himself deep inside his lover.

The blond let himself fall against his husbands chest as he panted heavily, still reeling from his orgasm. He felt the man beneath him take the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around them for the time being until the food arrive in fifteen minutes.

Sherlock sighed. There was absolutely nothing else that felt better than this. Drugs, solving crimes, solving puzzles, cigarettes, even patches — no high felt as good as when he was with John. They seemed to move together in perfect harmony no matter what position they were in and they always seemed to be completely satisfied — no matter what the position. And even after the orgasm, when they’ve come down off the initial high and they are simply laying together, like they are now, it still feels as good as when they are in the throes of passion. Sherlock sometimes wonders if this feels as good when others do it. Does it feel like bliss to them? But Sherlock supposes not because no one has ever had a relationship quite like his and John’s. None of them mean as much to each other as he and John do. It’s something more spectacular than what two mundane people could possibly ever hope to feel.

He ran his hand up and down John’s back making the man above him smile and nuzzle into his chest.

“We’ve not gone at it like that in ages,” he mumbled, his eyes closed and his voice just a bit hoarse from their previous activities.

Sherlock hummed in agreement. “You insisted on marrying me; knowing my schedule and the rules.”

John chuckled but made no move to lift his head. “If I remember correctly — and I know you will — it was _you_ that proposed to _me_.”

The genius rolled his eyes. “I simply inquired about it, asking from a personal standpoint. You are the one who said yes.”

“And you are the one who married me anyway,” he said with a smile. “You’re not going to win this one, love. You wanted to marry me and we both know it.”

Sherlock grinned, not letting John see it because the blogger was right: he did want to marry him. Wanted him and John to belong to each other in every way possible. But letting John know that would only result in the man hanging it over his head that he did indeed have a heart. And he couldn’t have that.

John smiled wider when Sherlock said nothing, knowing that the silence meant he was completely right and Sherlock didn’t want to admit it. He lifted his head off the man’s chest and angled his neck to give him a loving kiss. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“And I you, John”


End file.
